Lovesick (40 page)

Louis Armstrong starts singing about “trees of green” and “red roses, too.” The doors to the museum are motionless.

Thirty yards away, Sheila finally props open the back entrance to the museum, and the maid of honor, stunning in her long navy blue dress, steps up to the threshold. In the movies, this is the part when she dashes across the lawn to tell the groom about the runaway bride, but Lara’s big smile assures me everything’s fine.

“The wife picked this next number. Canon in D Major,” Sid whispers. “Cookie says it’s the song every woman secretly wants played at their wedding, even if they complain it’s overplayed.”

The soft, regal sounds of the harpsichord and violins begin slowly.

A precious young girl in a white dress steps out of the museum carrying a single white tulip. She can’t be more than five years old. She follows Lara, who walks across the lawn in step with the building sound of the orchestra. Right behind that cute preschooler with the wild curly brown hair is her shy male classmate. He appears to be carrying something, too. Another flower
girl is right behind him giggling. Boy, girl, boy, girl, the processional follows Lara down the long stone walkway. The line is twenty children deep.

When Lara reaches us, she steps to Harvey’s left and begins doing traffic control: girls on one side of the lawn and boys on the other. Our impromptu guests are trying so hard to maintain composure, but the seriousness of the music is too much for many of them to take. The giggles are contagious.

The first boy then reveals what he’s carrying. Before taking his seat, he hands me a small sapphire-colored crystal. I can only assume the stone is part of a collection Sheila found in the museum gift shop. If she loses her job, Sheila may have a future in wedding planning. I thank him and cup my hands so the remaining rock bearers can drop off their gems.

I’m so consumed with balancing my rock collection that I don’t even notice Paige standing at the end of the aisle in the most exquisite strapless wedding gown I’ve ever seen. Tightly fitted at the top with a red sash across the waist, the white satin dress flares at the bottom, just barely brushing the floor. A short white veil hovers over her shoulders.

This is my beautiful bride.

I think that by not wiping my nose or patting dry my cheeks that I’m not crying, but I am. I take a long, deep breath. The music swells as the rest of the strings in the orchestra join in. I pour all the stones into Sid’s shaky hands and Sid starts stuffing them in his pockets.

Paige has a look of wonderment about her. She’s about to burst into tears or nervous laughter. When she finally reaches me, she asks whether I approve of her dress. I take her hands in mine and tell her that it was worth every penny.

Lara gently lowers the music and Harvey welcomes our one friend, Sid, our one family member, Lara, and all the distinguished guests of Montessori Preschool. This evokes some proud smiles, a few laughs, and a lot of rocking.

Harvey removes the elastic band holding his notebook closed and begins reading from his notes: “When people get married,
they promise to stick together ‘for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health.’ But the way I see it, Paige Reese Day and Andy Gordon Altman have already had their fill of worse, poorer, and sickness. We wish them better, richer, healthier lives. Like I always say: if you’re lucky, today will be the worst day of your lives.”

Harvey Martin may have just ruined our wedding.
Paige and I use the same blank space above our heads to figure out what Martin meant.

Lonnie snaps a picture.

“I know we’re on the clock here, so I want to turn the ceremony over to the groom, who would like to recite some personal vows. Andy?”

“You have the vows,” I politely remind him.

“You have the vows,” Harvey whispers back.

“Remember: you made us redo them. I e-mailed you.”

“Never got ’em. Maybe they got caught in my spam filter.”

“Your spam filter?”

Martin shrugs his shoulders.

“You have a wonderful memory, Andy. Paraphrase,” Sid suggests, handing me the two wedding bands.

I’m drawing a total blank. Paige takes my ring and then my hand and slips it on my finger.

“I promise to love and trust you,” Paige begins, insisting on my full attention. “To laugh and grow together. To occasionally sell you my clothes, to award you points, and to invent new ways for us to play together. I promise to be your partner, your best friend, and your family.”

I study her. “And I promise to respect and trust you,” I say, calming down. I slip the wedding band on where the engagement ring used to sit. “I promise to tell you ‘I love you.’ To make you laugh at least once a day. I promise to hold your hand through the night. To be your ally, your best friend, and your family.”

“Here’s the deal,” Principal Martin says, hamming it up for the crowd. “When they kiss, I want everyone to jump up and down, and make as much noise as possible.”

The crowd leans in. A few pop up prematurely. Lara and Sid brace, too.

“Ready … set … you’re married,” he says like magic. “Kiss!”

We do, and as we hold that kiss, trying not to laugh, Paige and I take in the strangest assortment of animal chants, screams, and cries.
Ooh, ahh, ooh, bleh, blah, bleh
—Paige and I run through the crowd—we’re married.

Waiting to take us to the reception is a shiny white Cadillac ambulance decorated in white flowers and red ribbons. “Just Married” is sprayed across the back window. Manny is tightly buttoned up in a light gray three-piece suit. Sporting a black limousine driver’s cap for added effect, he opens the door for Paige. I meet her inside the delivery truck from the other side.

Wedged on the floor between the front and backseat is a sterling silver bucket packed with ice and a bottle of champagne.

Manny flips on the surround sound. “I’ve put together a special little mix tape, just for
lovers,”
he says, dropping his voice. “Aw-yeah.”

The clapping beat from the synthesizer kicks in. Paige starts grooving out, shimmying her shoulders. In rhythm, I begin to unwrap the champagne cork.

Marvin Gaye is “hot just like an oven,” he “needs some lovin’,” and apparently the only thing that’s going to help that feeling? You guessed it.

Sexual healing.

Maybe it’s the build of the car or the pitch of the Berkeley Hills, but the next turn comes up on us quickly. The three of us gently tip to the left with the music. I’ve barely got the wire restraint off the champagne cork when it fires, skimming my right temple and ricocheting around the cab.

The three of us let out a collective gasp.

“Get up, get up, get up, get up, let’s make love tonight.”

Paige and I stare at one another wide-eyed. I slowly reach up and touch my right eye to confirm it’s still there.

“Almost bought the farm there,” I say nervously.

“J’yeah,” she snort-laughs. “You know what you need?”

“And when I get that feeling,”
Marvin Gaye sings. I nod my head, and tell her, “
I need … Chew-bacca, Chew-bacca.”

“Chew-bacca … Chew-bac,”
she and I then scream in unison. Manny doesn’t get it, but he’s thrilled to join in.

 

GREGORY’S
creditors managed to sell his home within forty-eight hours of placing it on the market. Brianna McDonnell was right—as one of the last affordable locations in the Bay Area, Crockett is experiencing true revitalization.

The creditors directly handled the sale, but because Paige knows all the real estate brokers in town, she was able to exert some influence. At least ten buyers came through the house that weekend, one outbidding the next, and yet Paige made sure the right family closed the deal on her childhood home. The Linders are from New Jersey. They have two little boys, Morgan, seven, and Harry, three. Mr. Linder is a carpenter. Mrs. Linder has been hired as the new social studies teacher at Willow High.

They’ll make this their happy little home
, Paige assured us.

Between what we paid the creditors, the money from the Rite Aid agreement, and the sale on the house, the bank and credit card companies will end up getting the bulk of what they’re owed.

The Linders take possession October 1, the same day we move into the Waterfront Oasis lofts. As a wedding gift, Ruth Mulrooney agreed to sublet us one of the condos at next to nothing. It’s on the third floor and looks directly out on the Carquinez Strait. I love the fact that our warehouse stands just feet from the very patch of sand where Paige and I first got to second base.

The new address will cut down on Paige’s commute by three minutes. Paige should know in the next couple of weeks whether the news station will bring her on full-time. Her prospects look promising, especially seeing as she’s now doing more general assignment work. Paige has already started looking at other local markets for TV work, too. We plan to stay in Crockett, at least for the foreseeable future. This is our home. This is our family. I’m still not sure who was more thrilled the day Ruth offered us this
oasis on the waterfront, Ruth or Paige. The two of them literally grabbed hands and started jumping up and down together in a circle. Not even our wedding day may have compared.

Under the Rite Aid contract, we were permitted a “one-day fire sale.” As a gesture of gratitude for everything he’s done, I dusted off one of our sleek black knock-off Montblanc fountain pens and gave it to Manny. The replacement ink cartridges will cost him twice what the pen’s worth, but Manny didn’t mind. In return, Manny spent the afternoon selling everything else inside that glass display case, including the case itself. He’s quite the salesman. I wish Gregory could have seen Manny in action. Just amazing. Everyone pitched in that day, including all four members of Sid’s former drug cartel. Hundreds of buyers came from as far as Sacramento. The over-the-counter drugs, toiletries, candy, and magazines alone raked in about $3,000.

Pharmacy keepsakes and souvenirs brought in another grand. From a small chunk of the honeycomb floor to an antique glass bottle, from the soda fountain to that cherry red, four-hundred-pound, fifteen-foot “Days Pharmacy” sign (no apostrophe and all), nearly everything sold. Of the pictures on the walls, a few we gave away, but most of them we kept, including the one of Lydia serving daughters Lara, nine, and Paige, seven, root beer floats, as well as the one where you can spot my parents in the crowd at the Day’s Pharmacy ribbon-cutting ceremony.

Right before the fire sale, Rite Aid came in and confiscated all of our sealed prescription drugs. For the remaining open inventory, federal law requires us to dispose of the drugs “in such a way as to render them unfit for human consumption.” After barely escaping criminal prosecution by Blue Cross of California, we probably shouldn’t have pushed our luck, but given our comfort level with felonies, we decided to forgo “full compliance.” We handed out the remaining drugs to the two dozen or so stragglers who still needed weaning off the Day Co-Pay program.

While Sid tries to help each of them find an affordable insurance program, we plan to help subsidize the remaining hardship cases with the money Belinda identified. Even if they’re forced to
pay full price for some of their drugs, Lara estimates that $7,000 could cover at least 150 prescriptions—that’s an average of four prescriptions per straggler over the next three months. We’ll see if it works. We’ve begun calling the new, completely legal interim drug plan “The Belinda Bargain.”

Come the end of the day, guilt got the better of Brandon Mills, and he forked over $1,000; but even that money, combined with the estate and fire sales, didn’t quite cover everything. It was the Baby Me Products check that covered the last of the wedding costs.

I applied to engineering school last week. Sid wrote me a recommendation. If admitted, I start next spring. Applying to college meant declining Rite Aid’s full-time offer, but I was able to refer another eminently qualified pharmacy technician: Stinky Stanley. It was my way of returning the favor after he deejayed our wedding. So long as the hiring manager catches Stan on a relatively rank-free day, the gig is his for the taking.

Belinda passed on a Rite Aid job, too. She’s decided that she’s done doing drugs (her words). Belinda and Cleat plan to spend the next two months driving cross-country. Cleat says he wants to film every step of the deterioration of their relationship, if and when that happens. He’s already writing his acceptance speech for Sundance. When they return, Belinda says she may get her certification in public accounting. Switching professions was actually Marylyn’s idea. Lara’s been able to offer Belinda plenty of career advice.

Lara went back to Los Angeles right after the wedding to resuscitate her small accounting firm. She says she’s hiring and needs good, cheap labor. I relish the vision of Belinda and Lara back in business together.

While I’m not accepting a permanent job with Rite Aid, I will spend the next few months transitioning the company over. That mostly means bringing the new staff up to speed on our quirky yet lovable clientele. Given that they’re keeping our street address
and
our customer records, we expect most of our patrons to stay on. Working three, maybe four months at Rite Aid is what
it’s going to take to pay off what I still owe on Paige’s engagement ring.

At the new pharmacy I’ll also spend some time training the younger pharmacists on the lost art of compounding, thanks to Gregory’s notebook. I’ll do it for the sake of our patrons, for future Crockett generations, for Gregory, but mostly for me.